DRAW THE HORNINESS OUT LONGER. IT HAPPENS TOO QUICK. KEEP JIMMY OFF KILTER LONGER — WHATS SHE DOING?

He glances left, and then right—and then he sees Kim, waiting with a small group, just where she said they’d be.

She’s the first to notice him, smiling over at his arrival. “Ah—here he is,” she says, beckoning, and at the sight of her Jimmy feels the memory of a tight parking garage hug against his chest.

He lets the memory draw him closer like a rope. He doesn’t meet her eyes.

“Jimmy! Right on time,” Howard says. “Good to see you.”

“Hello, Howard,” Jimmy says, barely glancing at him either. Instead, Jimmy greets the others. There are three of them, two men and a woman. One of the men is a lot older, and taller, too, towering over even Howard. His suit hangs misshapenly on his lanky frame, and he has a messenger bag slung over one shoulder and a pair of smudged glasses on his nose. He seems more like a librarian than a lawyer—in other words, disgustingly affable, and perfect for the Sandpiper residents.

“James McGill,” Kim says, and then, regarding the tall man: “Clifford Main.”

“Just Jimmy,” Jimmy says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Clifford.”

“Likewise,” Cliff says, shaking his hand. “We know all about your work on Sandpiper.”

Jimmy chuckles effacingly. “Well, it’s a group effort,” he says. “I mean, the folks at HHM”—a skittering glance at Howard—“are just knocking it out of the park.”

“Well, we know the case wouldn’t exist without you,” Cliff says.

Jimmy manages something like a smile.

Howard’s voice is too bright again. “Once you get him on your team, you’ll know why I call him Charlie Hustle!”

The words crawl over Jimmy, leaving trails through the air—just like that morning in Howard’s sunlit office, the nickname offered as if it’s an argument against ten years of spinelessness.

Cliff doesn’t seem to notice the slime. He’s introducing the young associates beside him, but Jimmy’s gaze finally drifts to Kim instead. She’s smiling fondly—it’s too warm, it’s all too warm. He tears his eyes away and greets the others.

“It’s great to meet you,” the woman, Erin, says. Her handshake is solid.

But Jimmy can still feel Kim’s smile on him, can feel the heat of it. The performance slips through his fingers and—“I hate to do this, but, um,” he starts, and then, addressing Cliff, “could I borrow Ms. Wexler for a moment?”

Cliff’s expression shifts with confusion, but he inclines his head.

Howard darts a sharp look to Kim—-and her smile is gone, now, a shadow falling over her face. As Jimmy leads her down the hall, he can feel the tension in her clicking heels beside him, and as soon as they’re out of earshot he sets his briefcase down and moves her around to stand in front of him.

He glances back. No one is looking.

Kim’s voice is low with concern: “What’s going on?”

“I just, um . . .” Jimmy clears his th